Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Alicent is seven-years-old, her mother dies and her father sends them away. Admiral Otto Hightower commands a fleet of ships, he cannot be expected to raise five children alone. He sends Tristan to boarding school, Ormund to the Church, Martyn to the navy, and Gwayne to their aunt in Yorkshire. He could’ve done the same for her, could’ve sent her to become a nun or to foster. But that was not to advantage.

No, Alicent he sends to the Royal Aerial Corps. Admiral Viserys Targaryen is happy to do this favour for his friend, and Alicent is too young to think much of it.

¬

“Don’t cry, Ali,” Martyn says, kneeling in front of her.

He looks quite dashing in his new uniform, white shirt neatly pressed and neckcloth expertly tied. He looks like a mini version of their father, Alicent thinks, only with kinder eyes. Behind him Father looms, also in uniform and glowering at her snivelling. Yet she cannot make herself stop.

“I will miss you,” she sobs.

Martyn brushes the tears from her cheeks and kisses the crown of her head, “Do not worry, sister, I will be back. And I will write you, so you must practise your letters.”

She nods miserably, tears still falling. He gives her shoulders a squeeze and stands. She wishes to fling her arms around his legs so he cannot go, but she knows she is too old for that to be acceptable.

If only mother was here, mother would never let father send Martyn away. If only mother was here, Alicent might not mind so much that he was going.

¬

“Must you go so soon?” Alicent asks, kicking Ormund’s trunk sullenly. It only hurts her toes.

Ormund rolls his eyes and shoos her away. She climbs onto his bed instead, and watches him pack. He refused their governess’ offer of help, making some grand claim about there being no servants in the church. Alicent does not think this is quite true.

“You know I must,” he says, “Father has arranged it and I leave in the morning. Don’t look so glum, you don’t even like me.”

She scowls, and says, “Of course I like you, when you aren’t being mean. But- but it has only been three weeks.”

She finds tears building in her eyes once more and Ormund sighs heavily. She wipes them away angrily. It feels like she has cried more than enough in the last few weeks. Surely she cannot cry anymore.

“Oh, Alicent,” he says, abandoning his packing to join her on the bed, “I know. But father must get back to the fleet and we must all have somewhere to go.”

“Where will I go?”

He frowns, “I’m not sure. Probably you will stay here with Uncle Ormond, or maybe be sent to foster with another family. He might send you to the church, to become a nun. You will be safe, though, of that I am sure. He only wants the best for us.”

Alicent does not think this is quite true either.

¬

Alicents dress is black. All her dresses have been black for four weeks. Everyone has been wearing black for four weeks. She does not mind so much, at least black dresses do not stain the way others do.

She drags Gwayne away from their governess after breakfast, shushing his whining about the sun. Their governess doesn’t even notice, preoccupied with staring out the window at Uncle Ormond’s footman. She is a distracted sort of woman, not yet used to having such complete charge of them. Or to the possibility of escape.

The Hightower has a sprawling garden, leading neatly into woods and farmland. Alicent and Gwayne head straight for the rose garden, easily concealed amongst the thorns.

“Are we playing?” Gwayne asks.

“Yes,” she declares, “You will be a pirate king, and I an interpet sailor. You must try and catch me.”

“That’s not fair!” Gwayne cries, but she is already running.

They chase each other around the rose bushes, avoiding tumbling in by virtue of experience and avoiding notice by keeping their shouts to whispers. He even manages to catch her a few times, as the morning wears on. She supposes it is not really a fair game, given he is two years younger and much shorter so she does not run quite as fast as she could. And it does become tiring anyway.

When the dragon arrives, they are sitting in the shade of one of the bushes eating the apples Gwayne dared her to take from Aunt Cecily’s tree.

The first sign of it is a giant shadow overhead, like a passing cloud in the otherwise clear sky. And then the wind as it lands in front of the house, not thirty metres from them. Gwayne gasps and clutches at her skirt, but Alicent stares in open wonder.

He is big enough to take up the entire drive, and the man on his back looks doll-like in comparison. Alicent is smaller even than one of his teeth, revealed in gleaming rows as he yawns and settles. His scales are deep black, blacker even than every dress Alicent has worn for three weeks. Blacker than the night sky, and gleaming in the sun. Gwayne buries his face in her dress when one of the dragon’s large eyes seems to fix on them. It too is dark, with barely any variation of iris from pupil.

The dragon lifts the man down from his back easily, and she thinks she recognises him as one of her father’s friends. He is already descending the front steps to meet this strange party, followed by Uncle Ormond who is flushed red. She squints to try and make out their expressions.

Gwayne tugs on her arm, and whispers, “Ali, what if it sees us? What if it eats us?”

“Dragons don’t eat people,” Alicent hisses back, but tugs him into her side and presse his face against her. The men ascend the steps, and the dragon closes his giant eyes for a nap.

Since mother died, Gwayne has clung to her. Tristan says it is because she is a girl and will one day be a mother herself, then he swings her around and lets her climb onto his back. She clings to him, because Martyn and mother are both gone and none of them can cling to father. It is Tristan now who tucks them in every night and reads to them from the book of Greek myths Aunt Cecily gave her for her birthday.

“Alicent,” Gwayne says, voice muffled by her skirt, “Is it gone?”

“I think it is asleep,” Alicent says, standing on her toes to peer at it in curiosity. The dragon opens an eye and she drops back down with a gasp.

“And what are you two doing?”

Alicent startles and would’ve fallen back into the thorns if Aunt Cecily had not caught her wrist.

“Nothing,” she says quickly, nudging an apple core behind her with her slipper, “Only playing.”

Aunt Cecily regards her closely for a long moment, perhaps looking for stains on her dress or other evidence of wrongdoing. She does not look angry, Alicent thinks, only serious. She begins to feel uncomfortable under her stare.

But Aunt Cecily does not reprimand her, only takes Gwaynes hand and says, “Your father would like to see you in his office, it is important. Run along now.”

Alicent obeys with haste, glad not to be the centre of wrath for now. She hopes Gwayne will keep his mouth shut. It is only when she is much of the way to her father’s office that she remembers that to be summoned is highly irregular. She slows her pace.

It must be her turn then.

The governess is waiting outside father’s office when Alicent rounds the corner, and her eyes narrow as she approaches.

“Where have you been? You disgrace yourself,” she hisses, grabbing her much harder than Aunt Cecily had, “And you embarrass me. Pray conduct yourself with a touch more decorum in front of the Admiral.”

She is given no chance to defend herself, as the governess immediately knocks on the great wooden door and they are bade to enter.

The men are sitting around her father’s desk. He looks serious and faintly irritated, the guest (the Admiral?) is smiling and his eyes twinkle, while Uncle Ormond looks furious. His eyes soften when they land on Alicent, and he looks away quickly. If she didn’t know better, she would say he looked sorry.

“So this is her?” the Admiral says, sizing her up quickly.

His voice has the same peculiar quality as Father’s, booming without shouting. As though he too is accustomed to making himself heard over great winds and the rolling ocean. Perhaps it is just as loud aboard a dragon as a ship.

Alicent curtsies and gives him her best lady smile, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

He laughs, slapping Father’s desk, and says, “Oh goodness, yes, you have raised a proper young lady Otto. My Rhaenyra couldn’t fake a smile like that if her life depended on it. Hello, Alicent, I am Admiral Viserys Targaryen. Do you know who I am?”

She glances at Father but he is looking at the Admiral with an expression like he has bitten into a lemon.

“I have heard of your family, your grace,” she says, unsure if she is supposed to curtsy again or maybe bow, “The Targaryens do our country a great service, being the only people capable of harnessing the fire-breathing dragons without whom we would be vulnerable.”

It is more a recitation of lessons than true understanding. She isn't sure exactly why fire-breathing dragons are so necessary, nor why they would prefer one rider over another.

"Very good." He smiles at her, gentler now, and tosses her a cloth sack. She has to scramble to stop it from falling to the floor. The governess is frowning severely at her.

“Put that on,” he turns back to Father, “She will only be mocked if she shows up in that dress.”

“Go change, Alicent,” Father says, barely sparing her a glance, “Then come straight back.”

Their governess practically drags her out of the room and into an adjacent one. Alicent finds this repeated violent handling frustrating and allows herself a moment to scowl up at her.

“Goodness, child,” she says, “How fearsome you are. Change, now, and quickly. And do not glare so, I am only trying to help you.”

The sack contains a set of boys clothes, plainer than what her brothers wear. She looks up at the governess but receives only a raised eyebrow in return. As quickly as she can, and with the governess’ help, she slips out of her dress and into the strange new clothes. They are not black. Her dress is folded quickly and placed back in the sack.

Alicent runs her hands over her trousers and finds the sensation strange. She is not quite sure how to feel about it. Her older cousin Marigold always complains of the inconvenience of dresses, but Alicent has never minded. It is easy enough to be the proper young lady her father demands even if it is not always fun. She has never resented it.

Why has she been given these clothes? Where is she going? Girls do not serve in any part of the military or so she has been taught. He cannot mean for her to pretend to be a boy. Alicent does not think she would make a very good boy.

The governess leads her, more gently now, back into her father’s office.

For a moment, the three men simply stare at her. Alicent looks down at herself again, self-conscious. She does look strange.

“Splendid,” the Admiral says, breaking the silence, “Come along then, no time to waste.”

He stands and her father and uncle are forced to rise too. No one else says anything, though Father’s gaze remains on Alicent.

The house is strangely silent as they descend the stairs, Alicent’s hand clutched firmly in her governess’ lest she trip. Where there have been servants and relatives in every corner for weeks, there are only paintings. They are likely hiding from the dragon on the front lawn. It is still there, large and imposing.

The Admiral leads her to it, taking her hand in his. Behind her, her aunt and uncle stand watching with Gwanye between them. They look unhappy, and he is beginning to cry. Her father’s face is blank. Alicent is not sure she understands what is happening.

“Balerion,” the Admiral says, laying a hand on the dragon’s muzzle, “this is Cadet Alicent Hightower.”

The dragon moves his enormous head towards her, his warm breath ghosting over her and sending her hair flying backwards. He examines her closely with one large brown eye, and Alicent holds her breath. After a moment, he moves his head back towards his rider.

“She is rather small to be a runner, is she not?” he enquires, in what is evidently supposed to be a whisper.

The Admiral laughs, patting him, “She is not a runner yet, my dear, only a cadet. And she is not so very small. Will you lift her up?”

Alicent finds that being lifted unceremoniously into the air and deposited on a dragon’s back is a startling experience. She can’t quite hold back a scream, and the few crew members aboard laugh at her. She flushes. The Admiral is lifted aboard straight after her (he does not scream), and he helps her into a strange harness that clips to the larger harness the dragon wears.

Before she can truly process what is happening, the dragon leaps into the air. The sprawling grounds of the Hightower recede below and behind them until she cannot even make out the sparkling black stone tower.

¬

“And this is your bed,” Laena Targaryen concludes, showing Alicent to the last unoccupied bed in a room of four, “Don’t look so worried, Rhaenyra and Laenor are really nice. And Rhae is hardly here regardless, she only turned seven two months so she still stays with her mother. I’ve been seven for three months and training for as long, my mother saw no reason to delay our training.”

Laena's tone is bragging but she cannot determine why. Alicent turned seven three weeks ago, a week after her mother died. No one remembered, except that her father decreed her old enough to go away. She doesn’t tell Laena this.

“Dinner is in an hour,” she continues, unconcerned with Alicent’s silence, “We eat before the officers. There’s ten cadets at the moment, not counting you and Rhae. So that’s twelve really, I suppose. Put your stuff away and then join us in the courtyard! You remember the way, right?”

Alicent nods, clutching her bag to her chest protectively. Laena smiles at her one last time and scampers out of the room. She breathes a sigh of relief and collapses onto the bed in an undignified heap.

Normally, she would not be so improper but it has been a long day. The dragon flight seemed to last forever, and she was mostly ignored as the Admiral ran his crew through drills. The dragon himself checked on her a few times, but mostly flew straight and fast. She had tried to puzzle out what had happened as they flew but what her father had done hadn’t sunk in until they cut her hair.

Her mother loved her hair. They used to sit together every night and she would braid it while Alicent read aloud.

That is when she began to cry. No one had comforted her, or told her it was going to be alright. There was no one to give her a hug or read her a story, not even Tristan or the governess. She supposes there will never be anyone to do those things again.

She is not Miss Alicent Hightower, daughter of Admiral Otto Hightower, anymore. She is Cadet Hightower of His Majesty’s Aerial Corps. And cadets don’t need coddling, or bedtime stories.

It really isn’t so bad, now that she has calmed down. The room is a decent enough size, if bare, and her trunk has already been set at the end of her bed. The governess must have packed it. She’d been worried all she had was the cloth sack Admiral Targaryen had given her. There are three new britches and shirts in the locker next to the bed, too, presumably her new outfit.

She slides off the bed and opens the truck. There are more new clothes, boys clothes, but underneath she finds her favourite dresses and quite a few of her books. And there! Buried right at the bottom is Athena.

Alicent holds the stuffed owl tightly to her chest. It really isn’t so bad.

¬

Life settles into a routine surprisingly quickly. The cadets are woken every morning early enough to get to the mess before the officers, followed by classes until lunch. After lunch they train with a rotating series of offices, until dinner followed by free time followed by lights out.

Alicent excels in academics, but falls behind everywhere else. That the aviators don’t seem to value academics overmuch makes this failure even more bitter.

She learns that her father sent her here because there are certain types of dragons who only take female captains, like Longwings - the middle-weight acid-spitters with their characteristic long wings and bone spurs - and Xenicas. When she is old enough, she will have one of these dragons.

“We’re always short on girls,” Captain Bower tells her after her first class.

It doesn't seem to her like the kind of thing her father would desire for his daughter. He always insisted she should be a proper young lady, even when Mother said she was too young to be thinking of debuts and husbands. Alicent does not think aviators get married, even if they are proper young ladies.

¬

“Hello.”

Alicent looks up from her book to find one of the other cadets has wandered over to her rock. She does not return the greeting.

“I’m Rhaenyra,” she continues, unconcerned, “And you are?”

Ah, so this is Rhaenyra. She had wondered about the white-blonde girl who joined them for afternoon training, but hadn’t had much time to dwell on it. As the silence stretches between them Rhaenyra’s smile starts to falter and Alicent curses the manners her mother drilled into her.

“Alicent,” she says quietly, “Cadet Alicent Hightower.”

Rhaenyra’s smile returns with full force, and she says brightly, “Nice to meet you, Alicent! We’re roommates right? Laena’s told me a bit about you.”

She sits on the rock next to Alicent, seemingly unaware that Alicent wants to be left alone.

“Mother finally got tired of delaying my training when she and Syrax were called to the Channel,” she says, “So I’m now joining everyone else full-time. It will be good fun, I’m excited to learn everything and become a proper aviator. Though those drills are awfully easy don’t you think?”

Alicent does not think so at all. She is easily the slowest on the rock wall, and at loading pistols, and at running along Vhagar’s back as she walks. At most everything that involves moving. She does not say this.

No reply seems to be required, for Rhaenyra continues easily, “Of course, I’ve been on dragonback since before I was born. Mother says that is a great advantage. I am to inherit Syrax, you know, for she is a bit like a Longwing and will only take a girl. Father still hopes they will have a son for Balerion.”

Laena spots them and breaks away from the main knot of cadets to hurry over. While the initial friendliness and excitement of her classmates has faded in response to Alicent’s reticence, including Laena’s, she seems to have appointed herself something of a protector.

“Nyra!” Laena calls as she runs over, “What are you guys talking about?”

“I was just saying that the drills are easy,” Rhaenyra says, frowning at her, “And getting to know Alicent. I haven’t met her before, you know.”

Laena grimaces, and says, “Well, you can get to know her later. She is reading, and you are disturbing her.”

“Am I?” Rhaenyra says, and her eyes land on Alicent’s still open book, “Oh, sorry. We’ll talk after dinner?”

Alicent nods reluctantly and watches as Rhaenyra is easily pulled into the other cadet’s game. Despite nearly two weeks of observation Alicent cannot make sense of the rules. There’s a lot of running, shouting and old uniforms balled up to act as balls. How any of them still have the energy after an afternoon of drills she cannot fathom.

Her book is much easier to parse. Their teacher, Captain Taylor, had given her an odd look when she asked for further reading but yielded her a text on dragon care easily enough. He’d asked if she wanted to be a surgeon, and had only looked more confused when she said no.

Reading is a suitable pass time for young ladies, or so her mother said, though the voracity with which Alicent went about it often caused her father to sigh.

It is much harder to find books here, but she is making do. The servants had only presented her with three different copies of the bible when she’d asked if they had any, but Matthew had promised to ask around the village. And though their teachers are surprised by the requests, they don’t seem to mind letting her read what she likes.

This book has proved rather gory, and she’s not sure what to think of the supposed best practice for removing musket balls from dragons limbs. The anatomy section she does enjoy though. It's easy enough to get lost in it again.

“Alicent!” Laena calls some time later, a sigh in her voice, “It is time for bed.”

Alicent looks up and finds that dusk is nearing. She snaps the book shut and hurries to catch up with the others before they disappear in the fading light.

¬

“No, Mr Hightower,” Captain Howitt says, as Alicent comes sliding off Vhagar’s back for the sixth time, “You have to have one carabiner latched before you release the other, you can sacrifice speed for safety.”

Alicent thinks this is rather unfair, as yesterday he scolded her for doing just that.

“Get back up,” he tells her, pulling her to her feet, “And practice latching and unlatching. Cadets! I want you running up and down.”

Flushing, Alicent climbs cautiously back up the harness and finds a spot out of the way to do as she is told. Vhagar starts walking again and Alicent watches as all the others easily keep their feet and keep running.

Rhaenyra gives her what is probably supposed to be an encouraging smile. It only makes her feel worse.

She latches and unlatches her carabiners crawling along, and still manages to lose her footing three times. When the cadets are called down for dinner, she keeps going. She does not notice Captain Howitt’s quiet conversation with their training master. He nods to her and follows the others inside.

“Cadet Hightower,” Vhagar says in her rumbling voice, turning her head to peer at her, “are you not hungry?”

“No,” Alicent says, ignoring the hot angry tears building in her eyes, “I have to get this right.”

Vhagar allows her to keep scrambling along the harness, until she tumbles off again. She goes sliding off her side but never hits the ground. Instead, she finds herself held in one massive claw.

“That is enough, I think,” Vhagar says firmly, before placing her gently at the base of her neck, “Latch on now, we will go for a flight.”

Alicent does as she is told, though reluctantly, and Vhagar leaps into the air. She does not try to talk to her again as they fly, and Alicent finds her breathing slowing and tears receding. Nothing seems too bad from up here.

The air is fresh and cold, and the land stretches out below her in every direction. The trees look small enough to grab, like she is a giant or they are miniatures in her dollhouse.

She breathes, staring out across the world. It reminds her of the time Tristan had snuck her and Gwanye to the top of the Hightower. The world had seemed to go on forever, falling away and away as far as the eye could see. She had been frightened then, and mother had come running to pull them away from the edge. Tristan got in such trouble.

Alicent is not frightened now.

Vhagar lands by the lake, and they sit in silence for a moment. Around them, the Scottish Highlands roll away for miles. Birds chirp in the trees, and the descending sun bathes the world in soft pink light. Alicent wipes away the last of her tears.

“You will learn, in time,” Vhagar says finally, fixing her with one great eye, “As all do. They are too young to remember the first female captains, but I am not. It is not so easy a transition from what was expected of you, to what will be expected of you. That does not mean you won’t make it. You have already made good progress, young one, do not despair.”

“It is so hard,” Alicent says quietly, tracing a mindless pattern on Vhagar’s scales with her finger, “and everyone else is so much better at everything.”

“They are not,” she says, “and they had a head start. Especially ours.”

The Targaryens, of course. Laena, Laenor and Rhaenyra with their silver hair and sure feet. Vhagar is a Valyrian dragon, one of the few lasting relics of Old Valyria or so people say. They claim the Targaryens and their dragons come from the same place, far away, though her father always told her it was just a myth. The dragons are raised by the Targaryens, so they choose them as their captains. Blood has nothing to do with it.

Alicent wishes she was a Targaryen, then everything wouldn’t be so terrible. Rhaenyra is always so happy.

“It is only,” Alicent starts quietly, eyes on the treeline, “that I am so sad all the time. I miss my brothers and my mother. I don’t even know what has happened to Gwayne and Tristan. And I am so slow and stupid and that just makes everything worse.”

“You are very clever,” Vhagar says, “All your teachers say so. You are better than all the other cadets at reading and mathematics and memorising flags and formations. The rest will come and you will be happy again.”

Alicent isn’t sure she believes that, but maybe the training master is right. After all, even in Alicent’s very short life she has learned that nothing lasts forever and Vhagar has lived a very long time indeed. She dries her eyes with her sleeves and sniffles one last time before nodding at the dragon with more surety than she feels.

Vhagar nudges her gently with her nose, and shakes out her wings, “You will be hungry, let’s get you back.”

Captain Howitt is waiting for them when they come down, and he trades a few quiet words with Vhagar before clapping a hand on Alicent’s shoulder.

“Come along, there is still some food left.”

¬

It does get easier. Her feet get steadier, her hands get stronger, and her mind stops telling her the governess is going to appear tomorrow and spank her for the mud on her shirt.

She is still the last up the climbing wall, but only by seconds now rather than minutes. She still has to sacrifice speed for safety, but it no longer leaves her struggling along on her hands and knees. She still reads more than she talks, but the other children seem to have accepted that.

“Do you want to play with us, Alicent?” Laena asks, twisting the rag ball in her hands.

Alicent opens her mouth to refuse, then pauses. She looks down at her book. It’s not that good of a book, and for once she’s not even that tired.

“Okay,” she says, finally.

“Okay?” Laena repeats, then grins, “Okay! Come on, I’ll explain the rules.”

She pulls Alicent up from her rock, chattering all the while.

Chapter Text

Alicent wakes up to the sight of Laena looming over her. Their room is lit only by the light of the moon and a candle Rhaenyra keeps next to her bed.

“Shhhh,” Laena whispers, her hand coming up as though to cover Alicent’s mouth.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Alicent whispers back, slapping it away.

Across the room she can see Rhaenyra waking Laenor in a similar way. He does not wake quick enough to stop her from pressing her hand over his mouth and Alicent has to stifle a giggle at the muffled scream he lets out. Rhaenyra pulls her hand away quickly, a disgusted look on her face.

“Gross, Laenor,” she says, wiping her hand on her nightdress.

“Me?” he says, slightly too loud.

They all freeze, but there are no footsteps in the corridor. Rhaenyra lifts her hand again, threateningly. Laenor rolls his eyes and mimes zipping his lips.

“We have class in the morning,” Alicent reminds them, sitting up in her bed, “And not all of us have dragons to inherit. Some of us will have to work for it.”

Laena tugs at her blankets but Alicent keeps them firmly in hand. It is winter and unlike dragons and Targaryrens Alicent can feel it. Rhaenyra has more success coxing Laenor out from under the covers and she finds herself with four people on a bed barely made for one. Truly she cannot wait until she is an officer and she can bid this dorm and this cot goodbye.

“You are the best in our class,” Laena says, “Everyone knows Admiral Targaryen is going to take you as his runner, and I’m sure they’ve already marked a longwing egg out for you. There are never enough girls, you’re practically guaranteed a dragon. It’s Harwin we have to worry about. It is a full moon and Rhaenyra managed to steal cake from the kitchens! We must go out to the loch, it will be fun.”

“It’s freezing,” Laenor says before she can, “And everyone knows the best way to get to the Loch is by dragon. None of us have dragons yet.”

“He's right, it is too cold and too late and too far,” Alicent says.

Rhaenyra widens her eyes theatrically, because someone told her it makes her look cute, and says, “Please, Alicent. I got the lemon cake you like. We can just go sit in the training yard.”

“What if Vhagar catches us?” Alicent asks, but her grip is already loosening.

“Vhagar loves you, I’m sure she’ll just send us back to bed,” Rhaenyra says, ripping the covers away eagerly, “Come on, come on!”

Laenor groans as Alicent shoves her feet into her boots and she giggles. He sprawls across her bed the moment she has vacated it, much to his sister's annoyance. Alicent lets Rhaenyra help her into her coat, the sleeves already getting too short. At ten, Alicent is the tallest in their group of cadets and the quartermaster has begun to look upon her with despair. Rhaenyra nearly drops the smuggled cake while she struggles into her own coat and Alicent has to lace her boots for her. Laena pulls on her brother’s legs until he obediently gets dressed too, though with ill grace.

Taking pity on him, Alicent wraps her new scarf around his neck. It is a lovely red and Martyn sent it for her birthday, from Spain where his ship was docked. He is always sending her gifts. Around Easter she received a beautiful blue shawl from Istanbul, which Laena has taken to wrapping around her hair when they do flying drills. Laenor still grumbles but he ties the scarf tighter and puts his arm through hers.

The corridor is darker than than their moonlit room, with all the lanterns snuffed and the sound of their footsteps is amplified in the silence. Alicent shushes Rhaenyra and Laena’s giggles when Laenor trips over an uneven floorboard.

Somehow they make it into the training yard without waking anyone, even the slumbering Vhagar. She only snores loudly as they creep past, covering the crunching of leaves and sticks underfoot. Laenor refuses to try to walk to the loch in the dark so Laena lays out her pilfered blanket under the climbing wall, far enough from Vhagar and the main building both.

“That’s mine!” Rhaenyra whispers indignantly.

Laena shrugs, and says, “Your bed is closest to the door and we would get cold sitting straight on the ground.”

Rhaenyra groans, and mutters, “It’s going to get dirty.” but sits and pulls Alicent down with her. The sudden movement makes Alicent yelps in surprise and she nearly falls onto Laena. She shuffles to the side so Alicent is squished between her and Rhaenyra instead. Laenor rolls his eyes at them and Laena yanks him down hard so he lands awkwardly on his hands and knees. He spreads himself out over all three of them in revenge and Alicent shoves at him halfheartedly.

“You’re going to squish the cake,” Rhaenyra says in exasperation, lifting her bundle over her head.

Alicent takes it from her, and unwraps it. There’s the promised lemon cake, one that smells like coffee and three of the usual stodgy fruit cakes they get with dinner. Evidently Rhaenyra stuck into the kitchens between their meal and the officers, which they’re definitely not allowed to do. The servants don’t mind giving them extra portions here and there but never the officers’ food. She claims the lemon cake and gives the rest to the others to squabble over.

Above them the moon is full and Alicent lies back on the blanket with her cake to stare up at the night sky. It is a cold, clear night and she can see the stars.

“Give me,” Laena says, trying to snatch something from Laenor. Presumably the coffee cake.

He holds it protectively to his chest, and whines, “No, you like the fruit cakes and I don’t.”

“I’m the one who got the cake, shouldn’t I have it?” Rhaenyra asks, already eating a fruit cake.

“No,” they say in unison, and go back to arguing.

No one tries to take Alicent’s cake from her. She breaks bits off to nibble without lifting her head. She spots Orion’s Belt and Cassiopeia from her book of constellations. It is her current favourite book and she has been studying it for weeks, waiting for an opportunity to put it to use. They learn to read the stars for navigation on dragonback, but Alicent prefers the stories in her books. Myths and legends transcribed onto the night sky, told over and over.

Rhaenyra abandons the twins to their bickering and puts her head down next to Alicent’s.

“What are we looking at?” she whispers.

“The stars,” Alicent whispers back, turning her head to find Rhaenyra looking at her.

“You like the stars,” Rhaenyra states, her breath warm across Alicent’s face.

“I suppose,” Alicent says, turning away again, “They are very far away you know, and their light takes such a long time to reach us that we are seeing them a very long time in the past. It is nice to think about.”

“You’re so clever, Alicent,” Rhaenyra says, finally looking up at the sky, “I don’t know how you know so many things.”

Alicent laughs a little and says, “It is only that I read more books than you. Captain Howitt found me a book of stars the other day, it is very interesting. Did you know people used to think the Sun revolved around the Earth?”

“No,” Rhaenyra says, “Does it not?”

“No,” Alicent says, smiling, “It doesn’t. The Sun is much larger than the Earth, and we revolve around it. I think that is the way things are, small things revolve around big things. We revolve around the officers, and they around the dragons. Families revolve around Fathers, and countries around Kings.”

“I don’t think the King is particularly big,” Rhaenyra says doubtfully, “Certainly he is not bigger than a dragon.”

Alicent giggles and shakes her head, “No, not literally. But he is the King, and so he is big in the sense that everyone thinks he is big. Like God is big even if no one actually knows anything about him. It is only a theory anyway.”

“It is a good theory,” she says, and takes Alicent’s hand in hers, “You are so cold. Here, give me the other one.”

Rhaenyra takes both her hands and holds them between hers. It is futile, as Rhaenyra’s hands are smaller than her own but she doesn’t pull away. Together, they stare up at the stars in silence. Laena and Laenor stop arguing eventually, splitting the remaining cakes between themselves, and the night falls still.

In the morning they will be horribly tired, but Alicent is glad they snuck out anyway. She is glad she has such wonderful friends.

¬

Dearest Alicent,

Father tells me your training is going well and I am glad to hear it. He insists at this rate you will make Captain before I do, though I think he is mostly joking. It is good to hear your birthday was enjoyable and you liked the gift. I know I waited too long looking for the perfect thing and it arrived late, but it comforts me greatly to know you will be warm this winter. It must be cold on dragon back.

I am well, you need not worry after my health, and I am not without friends myself, so you need not worry I am lonely. We are heading to Malta from Gibraltor and I will write you from there. I hope your response to this letter will be waiting for me there, I do so love to hear from you.

There is not much to tell of life aboard ship, or at least none appropriate for my little sister. I suppose soon you will not be so very little. My lessons continue, and I have more and more responsibility as time goes on. I hope to make Post in the next five years though I am not holding my breath. Father has much influence but he likes to make us earn our own way.

Aunt Cecily informs me Gwayne has become quite precocious in your absence, and Ormund and Tristan visited them in the summer. Their studies progress well also, I do not know if they write to you but they rarely answer my letters.

I know Father will have ensured you are well cared for in the Corps, but please do not hesitate to write me of anything you need.

Your Obedient Servant,
Lieutenant Martyn Hightower RN

¬

Most evenings there is little to do in the Covert at Loch Laggon. Cadets have very few duties other than their studies and there are only so many games they can play. At ten, they mostly stand around waiting to see if any Captains need help.

Alicent is reading while Rhaenyra, Laena, Laenor and Harwin argue over who should approach the first Captain they see. They don’t seem to have figured out that any Captains bypass their knot and head straight to Alicent or another cadet not engaged in the squabble. Tonight the Captains don’t seem to need anything from anyone, and are avoiding the cadets entirely to instead sit with their dragons in the warmth of the courtyard. She does not blame them, it is very cold.

“It should be me,” Harwin says, “I am nearly eleven and no one has taken me on yet.”

“Only cadets who are exceptional get taken as runners before being assigned as Ensigns,” Rhaenyra says, “And it should be me, or I’ll get stuck on Meleys for the rest of time and I will never have any freedom at all.”

Alicent tunes them out. She agrees with Harwin, but arguing with Rhaenyra is futile. What freedom she hopes to gain as a runner at the age of ten is a mystery to Alicent, but then so many things are. Rhaenyra has always had grand ideas. At least her book is not a mystery, even if it is written in French. Alicent’s early education as a young lady does come in handy for some things, including her rigorous French lessons.

“Mr Hightower,” Lieutenant Westerling says, breaking her concentration.

It only makes her jump a little bit, and she snaps her book shut. He is looming over her rock, blocking the light from the quickly fading sun. She likes Westerling, he is always kind to her when he collects Rhaenyra for her parents. He even gave her sweets last time.

“Good evening Lieutenant, Rhaenyra is right over there,” she says, pointing.

He shakes his head and offers her a smile, saying, “I’m here to give you a message, then I will speak to her. You are to report to the Admiral’s office after breakfast tomorrow. He has already informed your teachers.”

“Oh,” Alicent says, abruptly nervous, “Okay, thank you.”

He stands there awkwardly for a moment, then says, “It’s nothing bad, do not worry.”

Alicent is incapable of not worrying, as has often been remarked by friends and instructors alike, but she appreciates the effort nonetheless. She stands, tucking her book under her arm and smiles at him, “Would you like me to get Rhaenyra? I can send her to her mother.”

“That would be very helpful, thank you Alicent,” he says, patting her shoulder, “Captain Arryn has just returned on Syrax, they are in her clearing.”

She nods and ducks past him. The others are still arguing, completely oblivious to anything around them. They’ve moved on to debating whether Harwin should try harder to excel in academics or if his skill with a pistol and sword are good enough. She is beginning to feel rather sorry for him.

“I think if you memorise all the flags very well, they might make you a signal Ensign early,” Laenor says, consideringly.

“I think you should leave Harwin alone,” Alicent says, breaking into their conversation.

“Alicent!” Rhaenyra says, immediately throwing her arms around her, as though she has not been sitting a few yards away for the past hour.

“Yes, hello,” Alicent says.

“Why must you always bother Alicent so?” Laena asks, with a familiar exasperation.

Rhaenyra gasps in offense and shifts so that only one of her arms is around Alicent and she can glare at Laena. “I am not bothering her, Alicent tell her I am not bothering you.”

“She is not bothering me,” Alicent says obediently, and then grins as Rhaenyra whacks her, “Truly, she is not. I think the person she is bothering most is Harwin.”

“She is always bothering both of us,” Harwin says, throwing his arm around Alicent’s shoulders too.

Laena rolls her eyes and says, “I am beginning to feel left out. Shall we all hang off Alicent, instead of asking her why she has deigned to pull her nose out of her book? It is not time for bed yet.”

“Yes,” Laenor says, and wraps his arms around her too.

Alicent sighs, ignoring the three people now pulling on her, and says, “Captain Aemma is back, and she wishes to see Rhaenyra. Lieutenant Westerling was just here and he relayed the message to me. She is in Syrax’s clearing.”

“Why did he tell you?” Laena asks.

“He had a message for me also,” Alicent says, and allows the silence to stretch while they all stare at her expectantly.

Laena crosses her arms and Laenor detaches himself from her to stand next to his twin in the same pose. It brings Alicent no small measure of joy to annoy them, so she gazes innocently back.

“Well?” Laena says evetually.

“I am to report to Admiral Targayren in the morning,” she says, “directly after breakfast.”

“Alicent, you should have started with that!” Harwin exclaims, directly in her ear.

“Yes, it is very exciting,” she says, tightening her grip on her book.

“I should go to my mother,” Rhaenyra says, letting go of Alicent rather abruptly and hurrying off without another word.

Alicent watches her go with no little confusion, and then turns to Laena questioningly, “What was that?”

Laena shrugs, and says, “I think she is jealous. We all knew you would be the first to be taken on but it is her father.”

“He was never going to choose her as one of his runners,” Alicent says, “She is his daughter, that is not how it’s done. Captain Aemma would not take her on either, just like your mother won’t take you or Laenor. I thought they’d already come to an agreement that the Admiral would take Laenor, Captain Aemma would take you and your mother would take Rhaenyra. If anyone should be jealous it’s Harwin.”

“Oh, thank you,” Harwin says, “I’m only a little bit jealous. And Rhaenyra isn’t jealous, at least not of Alicent. She is going to miss you, stupid.”

“I’m not going anywhere?” Alicent says, cocking her head to the side.

Despite the rumblings in France, Britain is not yet at war and the Corps is operating in it’s normal peacetime capacity. Alicent won’t be going anywhere, not even to a different room. Likely, she will remain in their classes also and only miss afternoon training. Rhaenyra will hardly be able to miss her when she will see her every hour but four in the afternoon. Even if Balerion is assigned elsewhere, Rhaenyra will soon be taken on herself and they will write to each other. Alicent’s penmanship might be better than any other aviator she knows, but Rhaenyra’s is good enough for a correspondence between friends.

Harwin shakes his head at her, finally releasing her from his hold, and says, “Yes, but you are the best of us. Soon you will be far above everyone, she is only worried you will forget about her. You won’t, of course, but feelings are not always logical.”

It seems unlikely to Alicent that Rhaenyra, most beloved and darling Rhaenyra, would have any concern that Alicent will forget her. She has always accepted that the reverse is more likely, when Alicent will become one Captain among many and Rhaenyra will inherit Syrax. Syrax who can breathe fire, who has already fought and won battles, who is a Valyrian. Longwings are fine dragons, and important, but they are not firebreathers.

“She has no need to worry,” Alicent says, looking in the direction Rhaenyra fled.

¬

There is not much difference between being a cadet and being a runner, Alicent finds. Runners do not get paid and they do not outrank even the ground crew. Balerion is a heavy weight and a Valyrian so his crew is large, and Alicent finds herself in short order joined by Laenor and another older cadet called Criston. She does not know him well, he is one of the cadets sent to the Corps from common families so his parents might have one less mouth to feed and a year older than she is. She and Laenor do their best to be friendly, as there is little else to do but talk to each other in between delivering messages.

Initially he is polite but distant, until one evening he comes upon her crying near the backstairs. It is a good corner for crying, one she found when she was still new here and cried more often. No one has ever found her before. Criston nearly trips over her, and then stands gaping for longer than is at all polite.

“If you are going to be mean, just do so,” Alicent says, more spitefully than she intends.

He flushes, and says, “I am not being mean, I was startled. What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“Like you are crying in a corner,” he says, despite the fact Alicent’s question was clearly rhetorical, “But that cannot be so, for you have both a perfectly good bed to cry in and perfectly good friends to cry to. And not much reason to be crying.”

Alicent scowls, turning her face away from him and wiping away her tears angrily, and says, “I do not need to explain myself to you.”

She hears him sigh, then feels him fold himself into the corner next to her.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I was not trying to be cruel. Why are you crying here, alone in a dark corner?”

“It is my mother’s birthday,” she says, quite without meaning to.

“And you wish you could be with her?” he asks.

“She is dead,” Alicent says.

In all three years of her service, she has never actually told anyone that. No one much talks about their family outside the Corps. The cadets with Captains or officers for parents brag of them, but those like Alicent, Harwin or Criston don’t have anything to brag about. Harwin’s father is someone important elsewhere, and she knows nothing of Criston’s family. Aviator’s don’t concern themselves with the outside world, and when Alicent revealed her family was not of the Corps that was that.

“I’m sorry,” Criston says, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder, “Was it recent?”

“No,” Alicent says, “She died not long before I joined the Corps. Four weeks, to be exact.”

“That must have been very difficult, my mother was alive and I still missed her terribly,” he says.

Alicent shrugs, resting her cheek on her knees, and says, “I suppose it was, but many things were hard then. I don’t think I really remember.”

“I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing you forget,” he points out.

“No, I suppose it isn’t.”

¬

Dearest Alicent,

The Reliant has docked in Malta, and we will be here some weeks for supply and repair. Not to mention waiting for the wind to turn. After that we are heading back to England and I should be on shore for Easter. I have already dispatched your Christmas present, and our brothers’ as well. Do not feel you have to send me anything, I will likely be gone before it ever arrives anyway.

I am much heartened to hear you are well, and advancing so quickly in the ranks of your service. Aboard a dragon at only ten! I am sure you will be an Ensign in no time. I have heard only good things about Admiral Targayren and his dragon Balerion, it is certainly a position which should advance your career. Father tells me that you are still just as clever as you were when last I saw you. I would expect nothing less. Even as a girl of seven you were often too perceptive for your own good, and our governess despaired of your quick mind. It will serve you well now.

The workings of the Aerial Corps remain a mystery to me, so I am unsure if you will have any leave but I hope to see you when I am back in England. Perhaps I shall come to you in Scotland. I have always wanted to see a dragon up close.

Aunt Cecily tells me you do not write to her, I hope it is not because of any ill feeling. They would have gladly raised you and they struggle to accept the hardships you will now endure instead. It is not something most understand. Even I struggled to accept it in the beginning, that my little sister might be so far away and in such conditions. Write to them, even if it is only a short letter. Gwayne might soon forget us all if we do not.

I love you and I hope you have a good Christmas. It pleases me, as it would please Mother, to know you are happy and healthy.

Your Obedient Servant
Lieutenant Martyn Hightower RN

¬

Alicent lengthens her carabiner straps so she can stand. They’re not so far aloft she can touch the clouds, Balerion is too large a dragon to fly for long so high up, but the wind chills her despite the heat of the sun. He flies steadily, wings beating a familiar rhythm. She watches the countryside blur below them, sheep and cattles faint smudges against the endless green. Next to her Laenor and Joffrey are engaged in a game of rock, paper, scissors that they take more seriously than is necessary.

It is has been a very long time since Alicent left Scotland. She has barely traveled outside Loch Laggon since Balerion first brought her there. And now they are going to London, a flight that takes nearly three days. It is far quicker by courier dragon of course, for they are so small and quick, but the Admiral was hardly going to leave both dragon and crew behind. And Alicent is on his crew. She laughs, quite without meaning to, and the wind wisks the sound away into nothing. It is still novel to be on a crew, she cannot truly believe it.

The last time Alicent was in London her mother was alive. In those days they’d split their time between the Hightower and a London townhouse. Their house was not the grandest, but Alicent had her own room and the garden was spacious enough for games of hide and seek. Mother played with them often in a way that Alicent knew was unusual, and Father was rarely with them. Mother read his letters aloud to them before bed and kissed them each goodnight. In her memory it seems there was no unhappiness then. All her childhood is basked in a glow of laughter and play and her mother’s warm arms. (She knows it is not true, that Father’s coldness did not begin when Mother died, that there were tears even then.)

Alicent is so far from the girl she was then, she is not sure her mother would recognise her any longer.

The wind snatches at her clothes, and she reluctantly sits back down. The Admiral runs his crew through basic drills and the cadets sit on Balerion’s right shoulder, out of the way. They are close enough to the Admiral that, in the event of an attack, they could easily be protected alongside him. And do their share of protecting.

“Who is winning?” she asks, pearing useslessly at the marks Criston is marking on a scrap of paper.

“I am,” Joffrey says, without looking away from Laenor.

Criston shrugs helplessly, and shows her the paper, saying, “I don’t know. I think Laenor has lost more games, but I got the the columns mixed up for a while. I don’t know why anyone would ask me to do this.”

“Because Alicent is boring,” Laenor says, as his paper is defeated, “And insists she will not sully her record of perfect penmanship by attempting to write on dragonback.”

“That is not what I said!” Alicent protests, “I just think there are other, better, things we could be doing.”

“Like what?”

She shrugs, drawing her knees up to her chin, and says, “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps our schoolwork? We have our slates with the mathematics Westerling set. I don’t think that counts against my perfect penmanship, anyone’s mathematics would be untidy done on a slate on dragonback.”

Laenor rolls his eyes and gives the other boys a pointed look, saying, “See, she is boring.”

Alicent huffs, standing again, “Well, if I am so boring, you can all do your Mathematics alone.”

She scrambles along the harness until she reaches the opposite shoulder, ignoring the protests that follow her. She can watch London come into view just as well from here.

¬

Dearest Alicent,

Father has written to inform me you are travelling to London, so I will leave this letter in the care of the covert here. It is a shame we will just miss each other, for I sail tomorrow and you are due to arrive not two days after. I hope this means you will get to see Aunt Cecily, Uncle Ormund and our brothers. I believe they are in London currently, while the Lords is in session.

I shall send you a new dress from my next stop in port, we are due to go to Turkey and I am sure I can find you something beautiful. Maybe now you will have an opportunity to wear the dresses I send before you outgrow them.

To your main concern, I am sure Father is proud of you. He is the one who sent you to the Aerial Corps, it would be strange if he was disappointed in you for making the best of it. In fact, he rarely speaks to me of anything else but how far you have advanced. Try not to worry so, you know he is not very good at us.

It will be nearly a year before I am back in England but I will visit you when I get back. I must see how my little sister has grown. And you must see the man I have become, I cannot bear to think of the gangly youth I must be in your mind. I still miss you, and our brothers. Take good care of yourself.

Your Obedient Servent,
Lieutenant Martyn Hightower RN

¬

Alicent stares at the paper on her writing desk, pen hanging uselessly from her fingers. She has got a single line down. Dear Rhaenyra, we have arrived… she has no notion of how to continue. Rhaenyra is well aware she is in London, she very nearly threw a tantrum when her father refused to bring her along. Anything Alicent might say will sound like bragging or complaining. What she wants to say is that it is terribly strange to be back in London. She wants to tell Rhaenyra that it makes her miss her mother terribly, but she cannot for she has never told Rhaenyra her mother is dead. She sets her pen down, giving up on letter writing for now. She has already written to her father, Martyn and Laena. The rest of her correspondence can wait.

She folds her writing desk away, and heads outside to join the rest of the crew. Laenor, Criston, Harwin and Joffrey are playing Dragon Duck Dragon, the game that had so perplexed her at first. Alicent sits on one of the downed trees on the edge of Balerion’s clearing, and opens her book.

“Do you not want to play with the others?” Captain Aemma says, making Alicent jump. She had not realised Rhaenyra’s mother was still in the covert.

“Not right now,” Alicent says, and gestures to her book, “My brother sent me this, from Spain. I am trying to learn Spanish.”

The Captain sits next to her on the log, and peers over at her book, and says, “That is very impressive. I suppose I should have known, given everything Rhaenyra has to say about you. To hear her tell it, you can already speak every language known to man.”

Alicent flushes, and says, “Oh, well only three. And my Latin is alright, though of course one doesn’t speak Latin.”

“Of course,” she repeats, smiling faintly, “Well, I was going to take you aside later but I suppose now is as good a time as any. Viserys and I are going to take you and the other cadets into town for a day. The boys can wear their uniforms of course, but you cannot. Do you have any appropriate clothing? I know most of the girls do not.”

“Oh,” Alicent says, “Yes, though I have not worn it recently. My brother sent me a new dress from Holland, it should be appropriate.”

Captain Aemma stands, still smiling, and offers Alicent her hand, “Come, you can try it on for me and we can see if it still fits. You are growing fast, all of you. I feel I am replacing Rhaenyra’s uniform almost weekly.”

The dress is powder blue, in the modern style with a high neck and bow, and Alicent carefully packed it when she heard they were going to London. She has other dresses, Father insists, but she likes this one best. Captain Aemma helps her into it, brushing her hair out of the way of the buttons with a tenderness Alicent hardly remembers. She blinks confused tears out of her eyes, and turns to look at herself in the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” Captain Aemma says, tugging the bow into place.

She looks like a little lady, the little lady she was supposed to be. It is strange, but she does not hate it. (She thinks she looks a little bit like her mother.)

“It is perhaps a little short,” Alicent says, frowning at herself, “But still appropriate.”

“You will need a new one soon,” Captain Aemma agrees, “but not yet. We can look while we’re there. You are all growing up so quickly.”

There is a strange look in her eyes as she says it, and for a moment it seems it is not Alicent she is seeing. Perhaps she is thinking of Rhaenyra, so recently made a runner on Meleys. Or perhaps she is thinking of all the boys she hasn’t had. Alicent isn’t supposed to know about that, but she’s always been good at learning things she shouldn’t.

It is perhaps the strangest thing about the Aerial Corps, stranger even than the dragons and the girls. Dragons and their captains get attached, but while a captain may be allowed to waste away without their dragon, dragons are far too valuable. The solution someone, somewhere came up with is simple. Captains must have children to inherit the dragons when they are gone. Rhaenyra will inherit Syrax when Captain Aemma is ready to retire, as Laena will inherit Meleys. There is no one to inherit Balerion. They’ve tried and tried, but Captain Aemma has never given birth to a live son.

Sometimes, Rhaenyra curls up in Alicent’s bed and cries for her lost brothers. Or maybe it is her mother she is crying for. Alicent has never been brave enough to ask her.

Captain Aemma shakes off the melancholy with a smile, turns Alicent away from the mirror and says, “You will be a young woman soon enough, I’m sure your mother would be proud. And your father too, of course.”

“My mother?”

“Oh, I’m sorry Alicent, do you not want to talk about it?” she asks.

“No, it’s fine. Only-” she pauses, swallows, then says in a rush, “Did you know her? My mother?”

“Oh,” Captain Aemma tucks a strand of Alicent’s air behind her ear, “Yes, I did. Not very well, but she was- she was kind to me despite my unusual status in society. We spoke mostly of our children, you and your bothers and Rhaenyra. We both hoped you and ‘Nyra would one day be friends, though under different circumstances. She was so proud of you.”

Alicent bites her lip, stepping away from her and turning back to the mirror, “I don’t think she would be very proud of me now, I don’t think this is what she had planned for me.”

Even now, in her lovely blue dress, there are marks of what Alicent is. Her hair is only just growing out from the last haircut, her cheeks are flushed with sunburn and freckles from hours in the sun, and her hands are calloused from holding pistols and climbing over harness. She is not a little lady, not anymore.

“Maybe this isn’t what she had planned for you,” Captain Aemma acknowledges, “but I think she would be proud of you regardless. You work so hard and do so well, anyone would be proud of that.”

Alicent nods, tears bringing in her eyes.

“Oh, darling, come here.” Captain Aemma pulls her into a hug, and Alicent lets herself cry.

¬

Dear Laena,

We have arrived safely in London, though seen little of the city. We, the cadets that is, remain largely in the Covert with Balerion and the ground crew while the Admiral goes about his business. Laenor sends his love, but refuses to write his own letter.

I have not written to Rhaenyra yet, so do not show her this letter! I will write, I’m just not sure what to tell her. Is she terribly upset to be left behind? Captain Aemma is here as well, and Balerion and Syrax have been engaged in a debate over… honestly I cannot say. They find it very stimulating however. I am not sure who is winning anymore than I am what the debate is about. But on the subject of Rhaenyra, she would have found it terribly dull to be here. Shall I tell her that? No, probably not.

I have advanced beyond the others in my sums and Westerling has endevoured to find me more difficult problems, but for now there is not much for me to do. Laenor called me boring, so I have stopped helping him with his work and the others also in case they share my answers with him. Perhaps this is petty and unsuitable, but I do not care. Other than that, there is little to share with you of life in the Covert as it is much the same as always.

We did go into London on the second day, escorted by the Admiral and the Captain. That is why Harwin is with us, of course. Syrax only has two cadets, given you have not joined them yet, and John is nearly thirteen so he does not join us. Anyway, they took us to see Hyde Park and then out for lunch. The boys thought I looked very funny in skirts, but I found that three years is not long enough to forget the knack of it. I wore the dress Martyn sent with his last parcel, you know the blue one? It is very nice.

How are things proceeding at Loch Laggon? Tell me how Rhaenyra is doing, and perhaps what I should say to her. Though I hope I will have sent the letter by the time I get your response.

Yours sincerely,
Cadet Alicent Hightower RAC